


Eggnog with Aragog

by AngstyLlamaCrossings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arachnophobia, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Ron gets over his fear of spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstyLlamaCrossings/pseuds/AngstyLlamaCrossings
Summary: Cause everyone needs some holiday cheer come this time of year. Yes, even ten foot man-eating spiders with a taste for prepubescent teenage boys.(…That doesn’t sound quite right does it?)
Relationships: Aragog/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 3





	Eggnog with Aragog

It started as a prank.

At least, that's what he thought it was. Rumour has it that a certain someone had left one of those creepy crawly things in the boy’s dorm on purpose, some idiot’s idea of a practical joke before the year-end celebrations could begin for real. It was all chokes and giggles at his expense until the bloody thing began to screech like a banshee, morphing into something a little less furry and a little more… bitey.

Now, Ron was a wizard, not a very good one granted, but still a wizard nonetheless. As a wizard, he had no concept of Muggle’s answer to Death Eaters, a la superheroes. More specifically, Spider-Man. If he had (which he didn't), he would've perhaps be less surprised that the eight-legged monster currently terrorising his bedroom could shoot venom ten feet into the air without blinking any if its quadruple ocelli eyes, staring back at him in a calm beady-brown deadpan.

If he were any braver, or any smarter, the first logical thing to do if anyone were in his situation, was to blast the confounded thing away with a spell. A little ' _bippity boppity boo, away with you'_ would’ve been easy enough. However, seeing as he was neither of those two things, he stared at it numbly, barely registering the soft sticky liquid that had squirted onto his face and was slowly numbing the left half of his body.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!”_

By now, Ron had lost count of the number of times he’s had to role-play as the damsel in distress and Hermione Granger as his proverbial knight (princess?) in shining armour, he really should be used to it. Obviously. Girl has no boundaries whatsoever, charging into the boy's dorm as if she owned the place, never mind that she just saved his life (yet again).

The spell hits the wall and bounces off, knocking a lamp shade to the floor as the spider scuttled away and out the window, seemingly waving him goodbye with one charred leg.

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione bellows. Ron gets a flash of his mother’s face superimposed onto hers and surprisingly, it doesn’t scare him half as much as it probably should. “What did you do this time?”

The accusation in her voice stirs up an indignity in him that was rarely felt but thoroughly deserved, “This isn’t my fault, nor have all the times before this! It’s Harry’s!” is what he wants to say in retort, but the paralysing venom is still in effect so what comes out sounded more like, “ _Winney ma’ Poot, surs Harry poot ! Roody Bell!_ ”

Thankfully, Hermione got the gist of it, except the bloody hell part which she steadfastly ignored. He was soon carried off to Pomfrey’s by Dean and Seamus who happened to be stationed in the common room for a quick study session that had been interrupted by high-pitched screams that would put Moaning Myrtle to shame. Between the two boys, he reached the hospital wing at record time, but not before they had a good laugh, tickling his feet with the ends of their wands just to gauge his reaction. Cankerous toffs.

Pomfrey gave him a two sick days and a long talking to before kicking him out for good.

Just to set the record straight, Ron isn’t a vengeful person by nature, not at all, his interest to get to the bottom of the prank is merely… academic, yes that’s it, academic, part of his extra credit assignment for Care of Magical Creatures, yep that’s totally it.

He was hellbent on getting to the bottom of this tomfoolery if it was the last thing he did. He had a list of culprits, number one being his own flesh and blood.

Ron was used to his brothers' hijinks, what with sixteen years of experience of under his belt, but even Fred and George weren’t so mean-spirited to pull this off on Christmas Eve, so they were out. The next logical suspect was none other than Draco Malfoy, of whom had personally victimised Ron for the better half of a decade. The only things stopping him from confronting the conker right there and then was the fact that he knew Draco was just as afraid of spiders as he was, perhaps even more so and that ruled him out too.

Fresh out of ideas, he’d gone to his first mate, Harry, for help. Yes Harry, as in, that Harry Potter, the one and only notoriety extraordinaire! Unfortunately, Harry was in one of his moods, off somewhere on the castle grounds having a start-of-life existential crisis and cursing all the gods above for the never-ending list of things he had every reason to bemoan about. _Oh, woe is me_.

That’s where the whole Face-Your-Fear, Grow-a-Pair and Be-a-Man pep talk came in. Kudos to Harry for making it this far with a power-hungry pyscho breathing down his neck at every turn (he’s talking about McGonagall), but something tells him that the whole Gunga Din Gryffindor attitude isn’t going to fly this time round. Harry did have a point though, perhaps it was time to take matters into his own hands.

That’s how Ron finds himself willingly walking into the belly of the beast and he means it that quite literally. Ofcourse, he’d brought backup in the form of Hagrid and Fang, the Sun, (everything always looks better in the daylight), and also bug spray. Lots and lots of bug spray.

They venture into the Forbidden Forest with slow deliberate steps, careful not to spook any of the creatures lurking in its midst. He was just discussing the latest Quidditch match against Ravenclaw when a familiar tingling at the nape of his neck alerted him of their destination, they had reached the Acromantula’s lair.

Ron rubbed a hand over and restrained from ducking behind Hagrid for cover, something that Fang had already done.

 _“Ahh Hagrid… my old friend.”_ The voice booming from the cave is just as baritone as he remembered it, though it had definitely grown in age, if the tiny white hairs on attached to its spindly legs was any indication. As if on cue, thousands, maybe millions of eight-legged He’d thought coming in the day would quell his fear somewhat but now without the cover of darkness to hide behind, the army of spiders looked bigger and badder than the last time he’d been here.

“ _What brings you to us?”_ Aragog speaks, glancing behind Hagrid to leer at him with a particularly… hungry look in his quadruple eyes.

 _Not a light snack, if that’s what you’re thinking,_ Ron scowls but takes a step closer to Hagrid, just incase.

“Why Aragog," Hagrid greets with a cheeky grin, "Can’t an old friend be visitin yer? It is Christmas yer know! I remember when yer were a young’in, carried yer everywhere I did, just a wee thing you were, fitted in da palm of me hand like da pigmy puff, fed yer some of da slop off da Great Hall I did, yer remember aye? Bit o dis and bit o dat, black puddin', mint jelly and eggnog—“

“AHEM.” Ron cleared his throat, pinching the side of a woolly coat for emphasis.

“—Right, right.” Hagrid sobered up immediately, “Well see this young lad here,” The half-giant shoved him to the forefront of the clearing, causing him to trip and pick himself up in haste, “Says he’s got a run-in wid some of yer kinfolk. Now I ain’t be pointin’ fingers none Aragog, yer know me, just hav'ta wonder if yer know anythin about it, is all.”

Ron looked towards the granddaddy of all Acromantula for an answer. The cave was so dark that he could barely make out its bulbous form and pincered face, not even in this glimmering sunlight. He knew that Aragog had kept his promise in part due to his friendship with Hagrid but Ron wasn’t stupid enough to think that’s the only reason. Their kind had no place in the Muggle world and the Ministry would soon have them eliminated than leave any scrap of evidence for cleanup. With a steady supply of food and water as well as Dumbledore here to keep them in check, this was perhaps the only place left where the colony could hope to spend the rest of their lives in relative peace.

“ _Ronald.”_

Ron snapped to attention at his name being called, _how the bloody hell did it know his name?_

“ _Come here, young human, friend of Hagrid’s. Come here.”_

He hesitated, suddenly the whole venture seemed worthless. It was just a prank anyway, wasn't it better to let bygones be bygones?

“Well, whadda yer waitin fer?” Hagrid stabbed at his back with a pink umbrella when he refused to budge, “Go on over there and tell im! Yer can’t keep the poor fella waitin Ron, it ain’t polite.”

Again, he wants to argue that particular point. Giant spiders living in the middle of the Forbidden forest had no concept of social etiquette, he really doubts that Aragog would care about minding its ‘P’s and ‘Q’s infront of company. Still, he was here for a reason and the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could go back to bed and suffer nightmare-infused sleep for the next three weeks.

Steadily, he took a few experimental steps forward. As he reached the edge of the cavern, one long hairy leg reached out to brush against him, guiding him deeper inside, the swarm of smaller (but not really) spiders parted like the Red Sea to let him through, it took all of his willpower not to faint on the spot. He did however, flinch and whimper against the sudden contact. Not one of his greatest moments that much is true, secretly glad that he hadn’t invited Harry or anyone else to witness his walk of shame into Aragog’s awaiting arms (legs?). Again.

“ _Ronald.”_

The Arachnid taps him gently on the cheek, illiciting another whimper that crescendoed into a high-pitched whine, sounding eerily similar to the Neapolitan mastiff wagging its knobbed tail just outside.

“ _Tell me what it is that you have seen.”_

He does, careful not to leave any detail out. Though the words were tumbling out of him faster than his brain could control them, resulting in a jumbled heap of garbled sentences that he struggled to piece together.

The long and short of it was this - he'd woken one morning to find a spider nest to nightstand and the next thing he knew, someone was screaming bloody murder. It took him five minutes to realise that _he_ was the one doing the screaming, waking up the rest of the Gryffindor house along with him. Startled, the spider had jumped off the wall, nearly vibrating as it did so and swelling to fifty times its original size. It stared at him through symmetric opioid eyes, complete with long, thin lashes that battered like a vixen in a dingy strip club. Not that Ron would know anything about strip clubs either, seeing as the spider would rather be tearing his head off than tearing his clothes off.

Unlike any of the spiders from Aragog’s colony however, this one was the colour of marbled porcelain, shining almost albino-white in the morning sun streaking through the open windows, shivering like a spiked mace, poised to lob at his head at any given moment.

“ _It cannot be.”_ Aragog mutters gravely, repressed anger creating sonar waves in the enclosed space, reverberating into his galloping heart. “ _Dare you lie to me foolish wizard!”_

“Now now Aragog,” Hagrid huffed in laughter. How the man could laugh even in this situation, Ron couldn’t ever fathom “Look at da poor sod, I can tell ya he ain’t the lying sort, yer bairn gave his lot quite a scare in dey'er Second Year, I reckon da’s quite enough of dar.”

Ron had never seen a spider look sheepish before but if he did, he thinks the look on Aragog’s face would be the closest he’ll ever get. The leg touching his cheek doesn’t leave however, if anything it seems to inch closer, micro hairs sliding against his pale skin like sandpaper on ice.

Hagrid soldiered on with a sudden taut grimness, “Yer know the Ministry don’t take too kindly on yer folk Aragog, I do wish it weren’t so but da only reason dey haven been up ere cause o Dumbledore. He's a good man and he won’t let em in, but who knows how long that’ll last, aye?”

He eyed the giant beast with a terrific squint “Sure yer know nothin about dis? None of yer kin responsible?”

Aragog faltered, but only slightly, recedding its pincer legs in slow motion. Ron was finally released from the clawed prison and he stumbled back and landed on his bum, surrounded by hissing spiders on all sides.

“ _Our kind do not go near the school Hagrid, not unless provoked.”_ The Acromantula seem to heave a deep sigh, propped against the willowed bough of an ancient tree, “ _I will see to it that no new colony threatens our life here_.”

“That’s good enough fer me, been nice seein yer again me old friend.” The smile that split across Hagrid’s face was as pure as it was baffling. With a great swat of his palm, he gestured to Ron “Come along then lad, it’s nearly dinner and yer wanted in dere Great Hall!”

Ron didn’t need to be told twice.

Stumbling again, he sped off in Hagrid’s direction, not once looking back at the millions of black beady eyes watching him go.  
  


* * *

  
In high-stress situations, the brain has a marvellous function of forgetting what it cannot process, particularly in cases of severe trauma. However, considering that the magical community was just as blissfully ignorant of PTSD and mental health as the Muggle community, Ron sooner forgot the whole incident than he remembered the two hundred and twenty-six steps needed to brew a Fortification Potion.

Besides, all he got for his efforts was a pat on the back by Harry and a ‘ _Tsk, where have you been!_ ’ from Hermione. Within three days, he forgot it ever happened, spending the Christmas celebrations with the rest of his friends in blissful denial.

Which is why it comes to a complete shock to him, when a trail of spiders shows up in his dorm room on New Year’s Eve.

At first, he ignores them. Choosing to go about his day as usual - a game of Wizard’s chess with Harry, then a hefty breakfast at the Great Hall and Quidditch practice after. Wherever he went, the trail of spiders followed like a trail of baby ducklings imprinted upon his feet. He gets the same goose bumps at the base of his neck like he did the first time he saw the blasted things and when the trail of spiders follow him into the Boy’s Bathroom, he gives up.

With a collective sigh of frustration, he takes it upon himself to track the blackened breadcrumbs out onto the Quad, past the Great Lake and into the Forbidden Forest.

He takes a detour to the hut but Hagrid isn’t there and he’d not cruel enough to bring Fang along as a sacrificial lamb so he leaves the mutt be. Still, he’s got to have a plan B incase things go south so he grabs a decanter of leftover eggnog on the table before heading off, gripping his wand tightly and muttering all the offensive spells he knows under his breath. Merlin, why didn't he pay more attention in DADA??

Halfway to the monster's nest, he looses his nerve and turns to head back with his tail between his legs. But the trail of spiders crawl up his shoes to nibble at his ankles and he yells for them to ‘ _gerroff!_ ’ before resigning himself to his fate once again. He sees his life flash before his eyes and a million thoughts invade his mind but the only one that stuck was this one:

_Am I going to die a virgin?_

To be fair, he hadn’t been actively trying to lose it, not since the Brown Clown incident, though it would still be nice to experience it at least once before he gave on life and decided to court death instead. Ron swore he would put more of an effort in if he lives through this. He had no idea what the Acromantula wanted with him, his last memories of their… encounter, were resurfacing against his will. From what he could glimpse from the conversation, it seemed a new colony had moved in without their knowledge or respect for their rules, which would explain why the spider that attacked his dorm room had a different coloration than the spiders he’d seen in Aragog's colony.

He still didn’t see why he had to be summoned though, it didn't have anything to do with him.

The clearing parts at the usual spot to reveal great boughs toppled over each other in a mess of tangled webs and moss, he expects to approach the giant cavern like he usually does but the tiny spiders nibble at his feet again, pulling him towards an open rock face just beyond the clearing.

When he reaches, nearly impaling himself on the inclined place, Aragog is already there waiting for him.

“ _Ronald,”_ The behemoth man-eating spider turns ninety degrees to greet him, crushing a few fallen logs as he did so, “ _My young friend_.”

“ _Come here, come here and sit by me.”_ Aragog beckons with one pincered claw as thick as his whole body. The sudden elevation in his title grants Ron some respite and like a balloon that had all its air let out at once, he collapses on the spot, propped up by the giant spider’s leg, bent at the joint to make a bench on which he dangled precariously from.

“ _We have much to thank thee, young one_.”

Aragog continues, not making a move to notice his immense discomfort, “ _The creature that attacked you was indeed one of our kind, but not ours. It had to go, they had to go but you must know that it was not one of us Ronald, you understand?_ ”

It paused to look at him with all sixteen eyes and Ron let out a whimper that he hoped passed for confirmation.

“ _Good… good._ ”

Aragog heaved a deep sigh, a slight tremor in his usual deep voice. Ron tried not to flich or make any sudden movements though he was itching to get outta there as soon as possible.

Exposure therapy was a thing he'd never heard of, but it was working its magic in wonderful ways. The usual tingling at the base of his neck had dulled into a mild rash just above his collarbone and he didn’t get the heebie jeebies like he usually does when around the giant spider. There’s still no way he would willingly hang out in a spider’s nest of his own accord however, and the faster he got outta there, the faster he could go back to the mountain of chocolate frogs and Zonko’s products to keep him sufficiently entertained without ever having to leave his room for the rest of the semester.

His next set of instructions comes as an odd surprise, even to him. Aragog had requested for an empty vial of which Ron had no idea what he could possibly have a purpose for, still it was not a good idea to disobey direct orders from a ten foot man-eating spider so he hands one over without question. He doesn't actually carry around a vial so he settles with transfiguring a broken branch into some semblance of a vial. It came out looking more rounded than he'd liked but given the circumstances, Ron congragulates himself on a job well done.

Just then, Aragog opens his gaping mouth, revealing a neat line of incisors jutted at the gums, criss-crossing like a spiral chainsaw all the way down his throat and Ron thinks, ' _Welp this is it, bye mum, bye da, bye everyone'._ Nothing of the sort happens however, the clawed teeth unhinge but do not snap shut as he'd intended them to, instead a single drop of green venom squeezed from the knife-like tip, plopping into his awaiting hand. The mouth closed shut just as quickly as it had opened.

Ron blinked. The liquid poison had landed directly into the flask, just one drop was enough to fill it completely and he barely managed to cap it, his hands were trembling so badly.

“ _I am told that our blood measures much in your world_ ” Aragog eyes him with twinkling gleam, “ _Though it is a little known fact that its properties are completely useless unless reaped from one that is alive."_

_"Use it as you see fit.”_

Ron looked between Aragog and the vial. Then he looked again, still not comprehending. Many years from now, when he would find himself down and out of luck with a gambling debt he could not hope to shoulder, the vial would make reappear before him again, and he would look back upon this particular memory with tears in his eyes before swearing off gambling altogether. For now however, a much appreciated ‘thank you’ was in order.

“Blimey Aragog," He exclaims "Uh— Thanks, I guess?”

Aragog shifts, making a chirrping sound reminiscent of sdrilling aw dust from a wood chipper. “ _You are most welcome, young friend of Hagrid's.”_

He pockets the flask and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, settling more comfortably on the Acromantula’s leg. He's surprised to find the sincerity tucked underneath those words, unable and unwilling to believe that this was the same monster who had tried to kill him and Harry three years ago. Maybe Hagrid was right all along, maybe monsters living in the forest did have a sense of social etiquette after all. They can’t all be that bad… Can they?

Even in their impoverished destitution, the Weasleys had beaten good sense and mannerism into all their children (except maybe Percy). And it was this good sense and mannerism that egged him into feeling just a shade of guilt. Here he was, barging uninvited into someone's home and just taking stuff willy nilly, no wonder the Acromantula didn't like people, when it came down to it, they were downright selfish. He thinks he might have an inkling of why Hermione is so persistent about S.P.E.W. now, though the thought wouldn't hit him until very much later.

Bending down slowly, he placed the decanter of eggnog near the shaggy head, taking care to keep his fingers far far away from the mouth, be it open or close.

He grinned through chattering teeth, “Be a right git if I didn’t give something back, wouldn't I?”

The corners of Aragog’s _lips, are those lips?_ seemed to lift, revealing clawed canines as big as his head, but Ron would be knackered if he didn’t think that was a smile, or at least an attempt at one. Aragog doesn’t make a move to taste the eggnog though, which is just as well. Ron didn’t know what egg, milk and liquor would do to a spider’s auto-immune system, or its bowel movements for that matter, and he didn’t want to think about it.

“ _It is time for you to go.”_ Aragog mutters in that blanketing baritone of his, “ _Farewell Ronald_. _For as long as I shall live, we will not forget the near-disaster you have averted for us._ ”

Ron nodded, chastised “Oh yea, it’s no problem.” He slid off the Acromantula’s leg and landed steadily on his feet, the rash was gone, and so was his fear for spiders, vanished like the fog in the morning sun. Aragog was his friend, he looked a little funny but then again so did Harry, and Hermione, and Sean, and Thomas, and everyone he ever knew. Things are always a little funny if you look closely enough, that's what Fred and George always say anyway.

“So,” He clasps his hands, shaking the loose leaves and twigs stuck stubbornly to his bum, “Can I come again?”

“ _No_.” Aragog bellows in a hurry, nearly making him flinch.

“Ok.” He answers without a thought, before curiosity takes over and he gabs again, “Why not?” 

The giant spider swivels all sixteen eyes onto him and he's forced to stare directly into the black beady orbs. In their haunting roundness, Ron sees his own face reflected back at him. It was him and yet, it wasn't. It had been morphed, elongated to stretch out beyond the solitary confines of his body. It’s a face he seen in the mirror everyday for the last fifteen years but now, standing before him, alienated well past the point of recognition, he struggles to gleam the surface of that glassy abyss, barely leaving a ripple where he once hoped to fill the pool.

“ _I am dying, young one.”_ Aragog responds in near monotone, “ _It would not be safe for you, or anyone, to return here once I am gone.”_

“You’re dying?” Ron asks ruefully, frowning as he did so “You can’t be dying, that’s absurd.”

He barges on, blissfully ignorant of his own insensitivity, “Look, whatever you’ve got? Hagrid can get rid of it, you know he can and he will. I could help too if you’d like, well not me per se but see, I’ve got this friend who’s wicked smart, and this other friend of mine, you won’t believe the things he’s done! We've helped Hagrid before, there was this one time with a hippogriff— ”

He didn’t know what else lay in the Forbidden Forest and he didn’t want to know, like ever. But Aragog was the first real creature that seemed to favour him over… somebody else, so he can't help getting a little attached. Besides, the Acromantula was the biggest and baddest boss in the sandbox, the scariest thing Ron had ever faced that didn't have anything to do with Death Eaters or You-Know-Who. He couldn’t just up and die like that. No way. It just wasn't fair.

The large shaggy head tilts slightly to the side, micro-hairs swaying to taste the air. Ron is instantly reminded of Mrs Norris, judging him silently from down the corridor every time he dared to walk past her unannounced.

_“Are you afraid of death, Ronald?”_

The question comes as unexpected and he overlooks it quickly. Of course he's scared of dying, everyone was, only an idiot without any sense of self-preservation wouldn’t be. He wants to retort as much but the words are stuck in his throat and he feels the onset of a headache. Because that's not really true, is it? A flash of a chessboard flits through his mind, followed by the crack of his own skull against the mosaic tiles. Where was Hermione when you needed her? She's the one who's always answering difficult questions, not him.

It never occured to him that Aragog wasn’t talking about dying at all, but Death itself, a topic of which Ron knew next to nothing about.

Though one day, very soon, he would.

_“It is time for you to go.”_

Aragog's tone is exceedingly gently for someone of his stature and Ron rises obediently, the familiar trail of tiny spiders circling around his ankles to put him back on the garden path where he belongs.

As they make their way out of the clearing, he turns and casts one final look at giant monster that had plagued his dreams for so long. Aragog had his eyes closed, lying so still that he seemed to be one with the earth, as immovable and ancient as the marbled slab he rested on. Barren sunbeams lit up the sparse spots of onyx black fur and for a second, Ron observes the steady rise and fall of his thorax, taking in and letting go of the air in his lungs, just like any other creature on the planet, just like a human. It was a magnificent scene, one he was simultaneously sad and yet strangely pleased to know he would be the last to see. A secret that was for once, entirely his own.

“Merry Christmas Aragog!” He waves with a smile. A smile overflowing with all the bright innocence that a fifteen year old facing the forces of darkness could muster, a smile that could only exist in this moment and therefore lasted for an eternity.

On hindsight, he didn’t know if giant mutated spiders living in the Forbidden forest celebrated Christmas at all and it was kind of rude to assume that everyone did just because he did. Maybe they had their own Pagan holiday that he’d never heard of, Ron wonders if he'll ever know for sure.

Regardless, he walked the rest of the way back to the castle with a skip in his step, accompanied by a trail of his new eight-legged friends. By the time he reaches the Gryffindor common room and is once again embraced by his roommates coming back from the holidays, he would’ve clean forgotten about the vial of venom in his pocket, where it would be then thrown haphazardly to the very bottom of his trunk.

For now though, the single thing on his mind was Aragog’s rumbling laughter echoing through the forest floor, a deep guffaw like the thud of fallen snow from high up a spindly pine tree.

  
“ _Merry Christmas, Ronald.”  
  
_

* * *


End file.
